Please?

We will submit to a paradox of intentional spontaneity facilitated by space and opportunity.

Months of after hours conversations finally forging actual minute and second hands on a broken clock that will not tell time or secrets, but will obediently cling to rigid curves at 10 and 2 until we drive each other over the edge.

Just when you try to pump my brakes your bare feet on my pedals launch me down the path of least resistance and I peel into the night seeking the light at the end of your tunnel. You literally. drove me crazy and now I’m writing from the future. Fuck you…Please.